


LoveHearts

by CaremKefo



Series: LoveHearts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Candy, Declarations Of Love, Drinking to Cope, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:25:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaremKefo/pseuds/CaremKefo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has started eating Love Heart sweets - at first the messages on the sweets bring up some painful memories, but soon he uses them as a means of communicating his feelings towards Castiel without having to actually talk about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere during Season 8, though it was written as the season aired so it may not completely fit with canon.  
> Previously published on fanfiction.net

Dean twirled the candy around in his fingers, his thoughts distracting him from the sugary stickiness that was now all over his fingertips. Everything in his life had turned to. His dad was dead, and so was Bobby – who he supposed was the closest thing he and Sam had ever had to a real father-figure, but he'd go to Hell again before he admitted that out loud. Sam had his soul back, but he still wasn't _Sam_. They seemed to do nothing but argue these days. When was the last time they'd joked around and laughed together? And what was the deal with this Amelia chick, anyway? And not looking for a way to get Dean out of Purgatory?

When Sam was in Hell he'd wanted to do nothing else but tear the world apart to get back down there, but Sam wasn't just in Hell – he'd been locked in the cage with Lucifer and Michael, trapped in the middle of the biggest family feud all of creation had ever seen. And so Dean had done the only thing he could: he'd honoured his brother's last request, and settled down to live the apple pie life in the suburbs. But it hadn't made him happy. He wasn't hunting, and he was missing half of himself – the half he'd always let Sam keep with him. Because they were brothers, and Dean loves Sam, and it was his job to take care of Sammy.

Only Sam wasn't Sammy any more. He hadn't been Sammy in almost twenty years, not that Dean could admit it. The truth was Dean needed Sam to be Sammy; needed for there to be some meaning to his life, as shit as it was. But Sam didn't need him – he'd proved that countless times. First there was university, with Jess. Then drinking demon blood, with Ruby. Now the life he'd always dreamed of, with Amelia. And in none of these scenarios was there a space for Dean. No little place for him to slot into. Not once had Sam ever dreamed of spending his life hunting with Dean.

He suddenly became aware of what his hand was doing and he stopped, flicking the candy over to read the words barely legible on its surface – _Hold me_. A bitter laugh escaped his lips before he cut it off, the candy falling from his fingers as a childhood memory washed over him, drowning him in a torrent of emotions.

_Sometimes all you need is a hug to make everything feel better._

His mother had said that to him when he was three years old and had fallen over. He hadn't cut himself, but he'd cried anyway. She'd wrapped her arms around him and held him until his sobbing had ebbed, and when he sniffled muffled apologies in her ear for getting her blouse all snotty she'd whispered, "Sometimes all you need is a hug to make everything feel better." And he'd looked up at her and she'd smiled the smile that only she knew how – the one that told him he was the most important thing in her world.

Dean kicked the chair back angrily as he stood up, torn between burying the memory at the back of his mind so that he didn't have to feel the pain that shot through him like a blade twisting in his stomach, and treasuring it despite the pain it caused him because he didn't want to forget another part of his mother. He'd long forgotten the colour of her eyes, the sound of her laugh, and the feel of her hand in his as they walked to the play park on a Sunday afternoon. Her smile, though. He remembered her smile. A tear fell down his cheek as he tucked the memory away for safekeeping. He could live with the pain. He'd been living with it all his life. But he would not allow himself forget his mother.

Castiel had been looking upon him, watching over him, at this time, and although he wanted to be there for Dean to shout at, lash out at, curse and spit at, something had told him that this was something Dean wouldn't want anyone else to see. And though Castiel had seen him, as Dean's friend he could grant him that illusion.

But once Dean had left the room, however, curiosity got the better of him. He still wasn't sure if he liked feeling curious – life was a lot simpler when there were things he didn't know and left alone, rather than now he wanted to pick at them like a scab until they bled all their secrets.

He picked up the candy with two fingers, frowning at the unpleasant stickiness that would undoubtedly be left behind once he put it down again. He stared at it, as if willing it to reveal its secrets to him; however it silently betrayed nothing of what had prompted Dean's reaction. He flipped it over.

_Hold me._

Ah. So that explained Dean's memory of his mother, then. He blushed. He'd made a promise to Dean that he would never again enter his thoughts without permission, but sometimes Dean thought far too loudly. It was like trying not to listen to someone who was shouting in his face. With a rustle of feathers, he disappeared – the candy falling to the table where Dean had left it.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel wanted to see Dean – no, not just see Dean; he wanted to _talk_ to him – but he wasn't sure how Dean would react to Castiel's sudden and unnecessary appearance, so he watched from afar as he waited. And waited. And waited.

Days passed, and still Dean didn't pray to him. Castiel had various Heavenly duties he had been instructed to carry out, and these helped to pass the time (something that he hadn't ever been aware of before the Winchesters became like a second home to him), but even as he completed them he kept an eye and an ear trained on Dean at all times.

And so, when Dean engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a demon several days later, Castiel was ready to step in if required. He wanted to assist his charge – no, his _friend_ – anyway, so as to end the fight sooner and save Dean the extra pain and exhaustion, but he had learned quickly that Dean did not react well to having people look after him.

_"I don't need a bloody fallen angel looking after me!"_

Castiel's wings ruffled at the memory. He was not a fallen angel – not yet, anyway. He still fought for Heaven's cause, even if he had his doubts. But one thing he did not doubt was that should Dean ever need him to stand by him and fight at his side in his was against Heaven, he would. He would do anything Dean asked of him.

Dean proved himself once again to be an exceptional hunter, manoeuvring the demon into the trap he'd crafted earlier with little difficulty and thereby allowing him to exorcise it from the poor girl it had possessed.

The demon would undoubtedly be punished back in Hell for failing in its task, but Castiel found himself unable to feel pity for the monster; anything that attacked either of the Winchester brothers would be subject to Castiel's holy wrath. He smirked to himself – another trait he had picked up from Dean – as he thought of the promise he had carved into the brothers' ribs.

Castiel wondered if perhaps the brothers would push him for information, for there seemed to be an increase in the number of demons running around lately. Of course, Castiel would have no answer for them, but at least it would give him an excuse to drop in.

But no – the two hunters eased themselves back into the Impala with weary sighs and started driving. Once safely back at the motel (partially thanks to Castiel disrupting the cell phone coverage in the area long enough to return one particular driver's attention back to the road in front of him) Sam and Dean packed up most of their belongings so they could leave first thing the next morning. As usual, it was Sam who volunteered to get food.

"Don't forget the pie!" Dean shouted after his brother.

"I won't!" Sam growled. One time. He forgot _one time_ , and now Dean would never let him forget it.

"And Sam?" Dean hollered.

"What?" Sam stomped back in, glaring exasperatedly at his brother. He was hungry.

"Cake isn't pie," Dean warned.

Sam closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, wondering not for the first time why he didn't just tell Dean to go and get his own food, before turning around and ignoring his brother's shouts of, "No cake, Sam! Pie, not cake!" as he walked away.

Dean collapsed on the bed with a sigh, throwing one arm over his face. His breathing became a steady rhythm, and Castiel wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then his other hand reached into his pocket and pulled out the packet of candies he'd been munching his way through a week ago – or more likely another packet of the same candies – and Castiel felt a sharp stab of pain cut right through him as Dean glanced at the working on the candy before he popped it into his mouth.

_Hold me._

Castiel wondered if perhaps he _should_ just drop in out of the blue. For an angel who had watched over the whole of humanity for thousands of years, it irked him greatly that this one human had his wings twitching in an eagerness to take flight that he'd never experienced before as he waited for so much as a single word of prayer.

_"Cas."_

Castiel was there in the blink of an eye.

Dean looked at him. "Hey."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said warmly, holding back a smile. Dean only ever called him when he needed something, and though Castiel had been watching over him he did not know what that something could be this time.

But then Dean grinned, and Castiel allowed himself to smile. When he did, he felt the tension that had been building in his shoulders this past week disappear.

"Where've you been?" Dean asked casually.

"Around," Castiel answered vaguely. He didn't think _watching over you_ would be a suitable response.

Dean got off the bed and stood in front of Castiel. "I haven't seen you in a while."

 _I've seen you._ "I've been busy, and you haven't needed me."

Dean frowned. "I'll always _need_ you, Cas."

"But you did not require my assistance," Castiel rephrased.

"Well, no – but you don't only have to come when we need your help. I mean, we're friends, right?"

"Of course."

"Well, you should do a fly by to say hi every now and then."

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "Is that something you would like me to do?"

"Hell, yeah, Cas! I hate that I only ever see you when I need something from you."

"I am always willing to help you, Dean."

"I know. That's what friends do, Cas. They help each other." Dean swallowed. "But they also hang out, you know?"

"Hang out?" Castiel inquired, thinking that just a few years ago he'd have wondered what exactly it was that Dean expected them to hang from. For an ancient being he must have appeared so naïve so the young human he'd broken out of Hell. "What do you propose we do?"

Dean was suddenly at a loss; Castiel could feel it.

"Perhaps we could talk?" Castiel suggested.

"Talk?" Dean was sceptical. "What about?"

"I don't know. Anything you need to."

Dean tensed. "Have you been poking around in my head again?" he demanded.

"Dean, I have never broken my promise to you that I would stay out of your head unless you specifically asked me to look in there." Castiel would have been insulted by Dean's almost-accusation, if it weren't for the fact that he knew Dean looked for the worst in everyone he held dear. He spent his life looking after people he expected would let him down, and in the end they all did.

"Sorry," Dean muttered.

They stood there for a moment, neither knowing what to say – though Castiel didn't find the silence to be nearly as uncomfortable as Dean, who started hauling medical supplies out of his duffel.

"Are you alright?" Castiel asked him.

"Yeah, just a few scratches." He pulled his shirt over his head and Castiel's eyes widened.

"Dean, those are more than just a few." He reached out a hand but Dean swatted his hand away.

"Don't you dare mojo me!" he warned.

"Dean—"

"Cas!"

"Very well," Castiel said unhappily. "I just want to help you."

"Well, you can – bandage me up."

"Why can't I just heal you?"

"Because I don't need you to, damn it!" Castiel huffed, and Dean sighed. "Look, I know you mean well, but I've been doing this for years. Just give me that, will you?"

Castiel held his hand out for the bandages with an expression that reminded Dean of Sam's bitch-face.

He laughed at that. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel didn't know what he'd done that made Dean laugh, and he wished he knew so that he could do it again in the future. Dean laughed less and less as the years passed, and it hurt Castiel to always see him so... cold. You would actually think that he was happy when he laughed – his whole face lit up and he positively glowed. Not that he would ever _tell_ Dean that, of course.

He carefully cleaned out Dean's wounds, turning out Dean's complaints that they were only grazes and just needed to be covered; if he wouldn't let Castiel heal them then he would just have to deal with Castiel making sure he didn't die from an infection. Once he was satisfied that there was no grime or grit left in the wounds Dean instructed him on how best to apply the bandages, and then fell silent as Castiel got to work.

Dean's bare skin almost burned under his cool fingers as he followed Dean's instructions to the letter. Dean was always very warm – much warmer than Castiel, but then his vessel did not need to work as hard, because it was not what was keeping him alive. His fingertips lightly brushed across Dean's ribs as he taped a bandage to the skin, and he felt Dean flinch.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, unsure exactly as to why he was nearly whispering. "I did not mean to hurt you."

Dean chuckled. "You didn't, Cas. It was just ticklish."

"Oh." Castiel's curiosity was peaked again, and he moved his fingers back to that spot. "Right here?"

"Don't!" Dean cried, but he was grinning. "I mean it, Cas!" he shouted as Castiel kept going. "Cas!"

Castiel moved away, and held Dean's shirt out to him. "What does it feel like?" he asked as Dean tugged his t-shirt back down. "Being... tickled?"

"Wanna find out?" he smirked, closing the distance between them.

"I wouldn't be able to feel it," Castiel explained. "While I can feel what this vessel feels, those senses are dulled. I do not fell tired, or hungry. I am aware of pain, but it means nothing to me." He didn't mention pleasure; unwilling to have that conversation now.

"It feels... I don't know. It's like... I guess it's a bit like little pins are being jabbed in your sides, causing your muscles to constrict, but it doesn't hurt. It feels good."

"Then why did you ask me to stop?"

"After a while it just gets too much. But it's still good."

Castiel caught a glimpse of Dean's mother laughing as she begged John to stop when he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck and he tickling her sides as she wriggled and giggled in his arms.

Dean's expression had grown hard, but there was sadness in his eyes. Castiel started to lift his arms out – though he only bent them at the elbow – and they hung awkwardly in the air between them for a moment. Then Castiel stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Dean as he had done to him by the river in Purgatory. Dean, like Castiel, stood unmoving – his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

Castiel was unsure how long he was supposed to stay like this, and it was only when Dean began to fidget that he realised he'd been too long. He stepped back.

"You _have_ been in my head," Dean accused quietly, his eyes slightly wet.

Castiel shook his head. "Sometimes you think too loudly."

Dean barked a laugh and wiped a hand down his face. "Well next time I think I'll be sure to whisper!" he joked.

The familiar purr of the Impala could be heard outside, announcing Sam's return.

"Do you, uh, want to stay for dinner?"

"Would you like me to join you?"

Dean shrugged. "It's up to you. You're always welcome here. Unless, you know, you've got somewhere more important to be?"

He heard the unspoken words as loudly as if Dean had spoken them, and they hurt. _Unless you're still Heaven's bitch?_

But no, Castiel could think of nowhere more important he could be at that moment than with his friends. "I would very much like to stay," he said. He turned to greet Sam as he walked in the door, missing the soft smile that ghosted across Dean's lips for the briefest of moments.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean was glad that Castiel stayed with them for longer than just dinner – he spent several days with them as they travelled around, looking for their next hunt – though he could have done without the disapproving stares from him whenever Sam changed the dressings on his back for him.

They were in between hunts as well, so it was good for them to be able to just relax for a couple of days. Not that they didn't look for another hunt, but being able to take a day or two here and there to recharge their batteries and watch a bit of TV (that wasn't cheap motel porn) was nice.

"Sam!" Dean called from the fridge on their third day without so much as a hint of another hunt.

"What?" Sam didn't even look up from his laptop screen as he shouted back at his brother, despite the fact there was barely ten feet between them.

"We're out of pie, there's hardly any beer left, and I don't know about you, but I don't fancy mouldy whatever-the-hell-that-is for dinner tonight."

"So go out and grab some food. The store's just on the other side of the town."

"You go out and get it."

"Dean, I _always_ go and get the food."

"Exactly! It's, like, your job!"

"Along with researching, and being expected to know everything about angels when there's one we can actually _ask_ —"

"Sam!" Dean cut him off with a warning glare, eager for him to shut up. He did _not_ want Cas knowing that he asks Sam to look up stuff about angels behind his back.

"Dean, you know you can ask me anything you need to know about angels," Castiel said quietly, tearing his gaze away from the television to shoot Dean a disappointed look that made his stomach clench with guilt.

Dean stared at Cas, not knowing what to say. _Yeah_ , or _I know_ just weren't going to cut it because Cas would then think there was a reason Dean wasn't talking to him about it – which there was – but it was a very good reason, and he didn't want Castiel to know about it because really it was pathetic and made him feel like a twelve-year-old girl, which was an even better reason not to explain himself to Cas.

He settled for, "Uh..." as he looked desperately at Sam.

"Dean, just take your turn at getting food," he sighed, reaching into his pocket and flinging his wallet at Dean. "I'll even pay, just... Get out of here. You're going stir crazy doing nothing."

"Bitch," Dean said as he swiped a handful of bills before tossing the wallet back at his brother.

"Jerk," Sam said, rolling his eyes when he saw just how much Dean had taken. "I didn't mean for you to take tonight's drinking money out of here as well!"

Dean flashed him a cocky grin but said nothing as flung his jacket on and moved towards the door.

"You coming, Cas?"

"If you require me to."

"Cas, I don't need you. I'd like you to, but if you want to stay here with Sam that's fine too. 'S up to you."

"I think I'd like the opportunity to 'stretch my wings', as they say," he smiled.

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked him. "As who say?"

"I think he's paraphrasing the saying—"

"Do I look like an idiot to you Sam?" Dean growled. "God, can't a man make a joke..."

"I think Cas was the one making a joke."

Dean clenched the Impala keys in his fist so tight that it started to hurt. "If you're coming let's get out of here, Cas." Then he strode out the door and across the car park without even waiting to see if Cas was following him.

He could feel some of the tension in his shoulders ebb as his baby roared to life, and the tyres crunched the gravel in the parking lot as he pulled away. A second later there was a rustle of feathers and Castiel had joined him.

"I believe it's polite to wait for me to get in the car before driving away," he mused as he stared out of the side window at the passing scenery.

"Yeah, well, Sam was right – I am going crazy being stuck in there all day."

"I also believe you owe Sam an apology. You _were_ rather rude to him."

"I am _not ___apologising to him," Dean said gruffly. He knew he sounded like a stubborn, petulant child, but he'd be damned before he apologised for trying to be light-hearted. Hell, even a little flirtatious— No! Not flirtatious. _Definitely_ not flirtatious! He gripped the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white, and only then did he relax his grip slightly – but just enough that Castiel wouldn't question him about it.

Castiel huffed. "You apologise to _me_ easily enough – why should Sam be any different?"

"Because he's my pain in the ass little brother, that's why."

"You said you viewed me as a second younger brother, once. I was offended, then, because I am so much older than you will ever know, but now I am honoured that you would consider me family. Has that changed?"

Dean's knuckled turned white again. That was true – he had said that, once upon a time. When had he stopped seeing Cas as family? As someone that he needed to take care of? Cas still wasn't just Cas – he hadn't been just Cas in a long time – but he was something else, now. Cas was right – things had changed somewhere along the line.

"Cas, you're still family," he assured him, even though he wasn't sure that Cas would believe him.

"But not as much as Sam is to you," the angel finished.

"Now you listen to me," Dean said, glaring at him sternly. "Family doesn't end with blood."

Castiel straightened slightly. "Wise words," he stated.

"They should be," Dean said gruffly. "It was something Bobby said to me. Long time ago."

"He was a good man."

"The best," Dean agreed as he pulled into the parking lot at the store.

The wandered around the shop in silence, and Dean was aware of Castiel's eyes on him as he browed through the shelves and chucked a lot of things in the basket. He knew Castiel wasn't interested in shopping, but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to at least _look_ interested!

"Cas, would you at least try to _look_ like you're shopping?"

"But you are shopping."

"Browse, damn it!"

He suppressed a laugh as the angel tried to casually consider the products on display, for there was nothing casual about the intensity of his stare, and once he was sure Castiel wasn't looking swiped the latest edition of _Busty Asian Beauties_ off the stand. If he'd been with Sam he'd have waved it in his brother's face, but with Castiel being an angel he always felt like he should be protecting the guy's integrity or something.

"Dean, you could have just said, 'Don't look at me while I put this iniquitous magazine in my basket', for that would have been a lot more subtle than you staring at me while trying your best _not_ to look like you're obviously smuggling something you're ashamed of into the basket."

Dean felt his cheeks flush. "I... I'm not ashamed!" he shouted, wincing as he became aware of several pairs of eyes turn to him. "It's a guy's magazine. Filled with girls. That I like!" he growled, slightly quieter this time, and stomped over to the cashier. After a second thought he grabbed a packet of sweets as well, ignoring the speculative look that the girl at the till gave him.

And Castiel was suddenly right _there_ again, breathing down his neck.

"You seem to like those," he commented. "They look nice. But why do you feel the need to hide your liking for them?"

Dean grabbed another packet. "Fine, I'll get you some," he grumbled, very deliberately ignoring Castiel's question.

But later that night Castiel asked Sam why Dean hid the fact that he liked the sweets, showing him the packet Dean – or rather Sam – had bought for him, and Sam laughed as he explained that they were typically bought by young girls.

"Shut it, Sam!" Dean yelled from the bathroom.

He was answered with just more laughter. _Damn it!_ He wasn't going to talk to either of them for the rest of the day.

*** * * ******

Castiel wasn't exactly sure why Dean appeared to be upset with them. Sam assured him that Dean was just being Dean, and he'd be back to his usual bitchy self soon. That prompted a muttered, "Jerk!" from Dean, and Sam grinned.

"See? He'll get over it."

But get over what, Castiel still had no idea. So what if the sweets Dean liked to eat were meant for small girls? They were quite tasty (except for the nasty purple ones – he had learned quickly that those were to be read and then dropped in the bin) and some of the messages made him smile.

One had told him, _You're gorgeous_ , and he's politely told it thank you before he ate it. Dean had laughed at that, but when he and Sam had looked over it had was hastily (and badly) disguised as a coughing fit. However Castiel was pleased that Dean did, indeed, seem to be remaining silent as a result of his stubbornness, so he was appeased somewhat.

Nevertheless, Dean's refusal to talk made deciding on their next hunt rather difficult. Every time Sam said, "Get this," and began to describe another string of strange incidents, Dean merely grunted. So in the end he helped Sam perfect his pronunciation for some basic Enochian spells that he thought the brothers may benefit from knowing, which resulted in an oddly jealous look from Dean before he refocused his attention on the football game – though he kept casting surreptitious, suspicious glances across at them from time to time.

The messages on the sweets made him smile (though he didn't understand the one that read _Stud Muffin_ ), and Dean liked the sweets, so maybe he could find one that would make Dean smile?

He ate his way through the whole packet, but nothing jumped out at him. Castiel excused himself, before flying back to the shop they'd visited earlier. It was so much quicker to fly, and the long car journeys bored him, but he liked Dean's company so he accepted them as a necessary evil. He bought as many packets as he could (which wasn't many) with the spare change that had lain, unneeded until now, in the coat pocket since the night Jimmy had walked out of his front door and invited Castiel into his body.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean blinked as he woke up, the sun streaming through the open curtains harsh on his bleary eyes.

"Sam?" he croaked, kicking over empty beer bottles as he stumbled out of bed. "Cas?" he tried, when Sam didn't answer. But there was no reply from Cas, either. A quick glance out the front window told him that the Impala was gone, so the two of them were probably out getting supplies.

He grabbed a quick shower, not bothering to wrap a towel around his waist when he came out of the bathroom for there was nobody there to see him, and it was only when he moved to pick up his watch from the nightstand that he saw the sweet lying there.

_Best mate._

Dean huffed a quiet laugh to himself. Trust Cas to reduce things to their simplest form. For it _had_ to be Cas – Sam would just have complained about the amount of beer he'd drunk and possibly punched him for behaving like a dick.

"You're my best mate too, Cas," he said to the empty room, smiling. "Except for Sam, of course."

There was a soft flutter of wings, and then, "Of course."

Dean spun around to see Cas standing between him and the bathroom door.

"I'm glad, Dean. I do not like it when we do not talk. Though I don't always understand what you're saying, I have grown accustomed to our conversations."

Dean looked rather embarrassed. "Look, no matter what I say, Cas, you'll always be a Winchester to me. To us!" he corrected himself quickly. "Me and Sam – we'll always see you as another Winchester. You've been with us through thick and thin."

Castiel smiled. "I know how fiercely you guard your family, Dean, and it honours me that you would look upon me in this way."

"Fuck, Cas..." Dean trailed off, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Castiel was staring at him in that alien way only he could – expressionless and unblinking – and Dean was about to open his mouth and say something stupid when Sam walked in.

"Oh, hey Cas," Sam said. "You're back, then. I take it Dean pulled his head out of his ass and called you down?"

Castiel turned back to Dean and looked him up and down. "I presume Sam is not referring to your incredible flexibility?" he asked deadpan, the twitching at the corners of his mouth the only indication that he was joking.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Oh, but I was talking to the guy at the desk and get this," Sam started. "There's an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of town, only it's not so abandoned."

Dean perked up.

"I drove by and checked it out, and—"

"The nest?" Dean interrupted.

Sam nodded.

"So let's go. Cas, you in?"

"Of course," Castiel confirmed.

*** * ***

Fourteen dead vampires later Dean strode back into their motel room and tossed his bag on Sam's bed. Cas followed him in, tenser than usual if that was even possible, though his hands wouldn't stop moving by his sides.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I do not know what happened – one minute I was fighting by your side and then... I have never lost my focus like that before."

Dean had noticed that Castiel's hands had been clenching and unclenching all the way back in the car, and he saw that they were now hanging at his sides, with his fingers drumming absently against his legs.

"Cas, don't worry about it." Dean pulled a beer out of the little fridge in the corner and offered one to Cas, who shook his head. Shrugging, he twisted the lid off and downed half the bottle at once.

"You could have _died_ , Dean."

"But I didn't. You saved me."

"You wouldn't have needed saving if I had been keeping a better eye on you—"

"Hey! Now you listen to me: I have been hunting things damn near all my life; I don't need an angel I've known a handful of years going all mother hen on me."

Castiel frowned. "I don't understand—"

"I am not a child, Cas. You don't have to look after me. I am _not_ your responsibility."

Castiel bristled. " _I_ was the one charged with pulling you from Hell. _I_ was the one who cradled your broken soul in my arms. _I_ was the one instructed to aid you during the Apocalypse—"

"And look how well that turned out. Cas, you're not the same angel you were back then. You orders have changed. Hell, you don't even _take_ orders from Heaven any more. Not all the time, anyway. You're more... freelance."

Castiel placed his hands in his lap and stared resolutely at the wall. Dean shook his head. For an angel that had been around for millennia, sometimes he was no better behaved than a stroppy child. Dean dug his hand into his pocket and tore a strip off the packet of sweets just enough that he could pull out the next sugary disc. Out of habit he flipped it over to read it before he tossed it in his mouth, but he stopped.

_My angel._

The thing is, he was, wasn't he? Castiel was _Dean's_ angel. He always came when Dean called. He rebelled against Heaven for Dean. He'd _died_ for Dean.

A fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Here," he said, passing it to Cas.

"Thank you, Dean, but I have my own."

"Take the damn candy, Cas!"

Narrowing his eyes at Dean, Castiel took the offered sweet and glanced at the message. "Yes, Dean," he said.

Dean paused for a moment, unsure whether Cas was saying _yes, fine, I'll take the sweet_ or _yes, I'm your angel_. But then he decided he didn't want to think about the answer because if it was the second then give the dreams he'd been having lately it might make him—

Not gay. He was very definitely not gay.

But when Castiel smiled and Dean had to ignore the tingling feeling in his stomach he reminded himself that Cas was a genderless angel and just because he was in a guy's body didn't make him a man.

There wasn't even a label for that, he realised, and he chuckled.

"I don't see that there is anything humorous about your near-death experience," Castiel chided him.

"It wasn't a near-death experience, Cas," Dean dismissed his concern with a wave of his hand, and he winced.

"How are you healing?"

"Fine." When Castiel's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing how truthful he was being, Dean rolled his eyes. "Do you want to check?"

"Do I need to?" Castiel replied, daring Dean to lie to him.

Dean sighed and put his beer down, before hauling his t-shirt over his head. "Just get on with it."

He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling it dip as Castiel knelt behind him. Cool fingers ghosted across wounds that would undoubtedly scar when they were fully healed.

"You know, I rebuilt your body piece by piece when I raised you out of Hell," Castiel growled, almost possessively. "You should take better care of it."

Dean shuddered involuntarily beneath Castiel's hands. The last time Castiel had spoken to him like that he'd demanded Dean treat him with respect and threatened to hand him back over to Alastair, and he couldn't help the ripple of fear that flowed through him.

"I'm sorry," Castiel murmured, his touch becoming impossibly lighter. "It was not my intention to hurt you."

"'S okay, Cas," Dean assured him. "Just hurry up, will you? I'm getting cold."

Castiel resumed his investigation of Dean's healing injuries, and when he was finished could not resist letting his fingers trail over the area that caused Dean to tense and chuckle.

"Cas..." Dean warned him.

But then fingers dug into his ribs and he collapsed back against Castiel, laughing louder than Cas had ever heard him. It made him smile, to watch the tension ease out of the hunter's body, and it felt good to see him so relaxed.

"Shit, Cas! Uncle. _Uncle!_ " he cried with a grin, sighing in relief when Castiel stopped.

"Why did you call me 'uncle'?" Cas asked.

"What?"

"You said—"

"It's just what you say when you want someone to stop."

"Oh." Castiel thought about this for second. "So like a safe word?"

"Yeah, exactly like— Wait, what?" Dean stood up and spun to face Castiel so quickly he felt dizzy. "How do you know about safe words?"

"I have watched humanity develop and grow over thousands of years," he shrugged.

"You sound like a Peeping Tom!" laughed Dean.

Castiel huffed. "I can assure you, I receive no sexual gratification in watching humans fornicate. Unlike _you_."

"What? I..." Dean spluttered.

"There really is little difference between 'peeping' as you call it, and watching pornographic material, other than the participants' knowledge of the fact."

Dean snorted. "Well you sure as hell managed to get it up for the pizza man!" he joked.

"We do not talk about that, Dean," Castiel informed him in all seriousness.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out as he found himself staring at Cas, and his tongue subconsciously licked his lower lip as he drank in the intensity of Castiel's eyes which stared back at him. He often wondered what Castiel was seeing when he stared at Dean like that, because he wasn't that interesting, really. His brother was so used to him that they could have entire conversations without Sam taking his eyes off his computer screen, but when Castiel was with Dean - and especially when they were alone - Castiel looked at him like he was the most important thing in the world and that freaked Dean out. He might have been, once, and only to the angels, but now? They'd stopped the apocalypse, and now Dean was just Dean again. Not an angel vessel. Just Dean. He was just the brawn to Sam's brain.

He blinked, and cleared his throat.

"Uh, well I'm going to turn in for the night," he told Cas, and when did his voice get so husky?

Castiel nodded. "I understand. You need your 'four hours'."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, something like that."

"I shall return tomorrow."

"Good night, Cas," Dean said.

"Good night, Dean."

And with a soft flutter, Castiel left Dean alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel did return the next morning, if only long enough to inform Dean that he had other important 'Heavenly' matters to attend to and that he may not be able to drop by for a few days.

Dean had said that was fine, and that he was sure he and Sam would keep themselves busy with cases.

Or at least, that had been the plan.

"So you're trying to tell me that in the whole of the U.S. you can't find us a damned case?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Sam said.

Dean let out an exasperated groan. "Have you asked Garth if there's any jobs going?"

"Garth told us to – and I quote – 'take a vacation'."

"A vacation?" Dean echoed. "Take a vacation? When have we ever taken a vacation?"

"Maybe we should take one."

"What?"

"Maybe we should just let our hair down. Go out and have some fun."

"Your hair's always down."

Sam chuckled.

"So what would you suggest?"

*** * ***

Dean looked up at the large sigh above the entrance. "Laser tag?"

Sam shrugged.

"You don't think we shoot often enough?"

"At least here nobody dies."

"But there's just the two of us."

"Mr Winchester?"

Sam and Dean both turned around. "Yes?" they replied in unison.

"I'm Burt Summers. I believe I spoke to one of you on the phone?"

Sam grinned. "Yes, that's right."

Dean looked up at Sam with a look of utter disbelief on his face.

"So you and your... partner wanted to join our group?"

Dean scowled. Not this crap again.

"I saw your flyer in the local supermarket and I thought my _brother_ and I could perhaps try it out. We've done a bit of shooting, but we've always wanted to try laser tag."

"We have?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam told him.

"Yeah, we have," Dean agreed unconvincingly.

But Dean's reluctance did nothing to dampen Burt's enthusiasm. "Come on – let's go introduce you to the guys."

"First LARPing, now laser tag?" Dean asked Sam quietly.

"Shut up, Dean. You'll love it."

"Okay, now here we've got Andrew, Martin, Steve, Phil..." Burt went on, listing names that went straight over Dean's head. "...Alan, Joey and Stacy."

Dean's eyes widened, and he smiled. "Hi."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dude, I think you're right – I am going to have a _lot_ of fun."

*** * ***

Okay so laser tag was fun, Dean could admit that Sam was right, but after three days of nothing Dean would have paid money for a simple salt and burn case.

"I'm not just going to sit around here waiting for the phone to ring," he told Sam.

"Something will come up, Dean. It always does."

"Yeah," Dean grumbled. "No normal lives for either of us, huh?"

"Dean... Are you alright? You just seem... I don't know. Off."

Dean felt off. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"It's just, you went out with Stacy and I haven't heard a thing about it – usually I'd be shoving pencils in my ears to avoid hearing your sex stories."

"It was good. We drank, we laughed, we fucked," he said. Well, two out of three wasn't a complete lie, and he certainly wasn't going to admit to his little brother that he's had difficulty getting it up lately. Ever since Purgatory, if he was being honest.

"Yeah, okay, I'm sorry I asked."

Dean laughed, but bit back a retort when Sam's phone rang.

"Garth? Yeah, Dean's climbing the walls here. A-ha. Okay, yeah, we're on it."

"On what?" Dean asked eagerly, already packing their bags.

"A ghost in Milwaukee."

"Milwaukee?" Dean said. "As in, Happy Days, Milwaukee?"

"The one and only."

Dean grinned. "Well come on then, Potsie!"

"If I'm Potsie, that makes you Ralph."

Dean huffed in disbelief. "No way, dude! I'm the Fonz!"

"Then I guess that makes me Richie."

"Pft. You wish, Samantha. With your hair you're more like Joanie."

Sam shook his head as he grabbed his bag and followed Dean out the door.

*** * ***

Everything picked up after that, and it seemed that Garth was already on the phone with a new case before they'd finished the one they were on. After several weeks of pretty much taking on non-stop cases, Dean was prepared to admit that having a few days off had been a good thing.

Even Garth was taking the odd case here and there, calling in help when he needed it from whoever was in the area, and after the three of them had taken on a fairground haunted house that was _actually_ haunted, Sam had gone with Garth to track a shapeshifter and left Dean to tackle a werewolf.

A werewolf which now lay bleeding out at Dean's feet while his blood ran cold. He stood, frozen to the spot, as he watched a brown haired woman cradling her son's lifeless body and wail into the night. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to force a sound – any sound – to come out.

"Ben?" he breathed, vision blurring as tears fell down his cheeks. It couldn't be. It just couldn't.

After what seemed like an eternity his feet moved, carrying him over to the body of the boy he'd spent a year raising.

Lisa was screaming a prayer to the skies, begging God to give her back her son, but Dean knew that God wasn't there.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and she started as his touch.

"What did you do?" she choked through her tears.

Dean's eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his lower lip quivered. "Me?"

"You just... _stopped_."

"No, I—"

"You let that... thing... kill my son!"

Dean shook his head. "No." It wasn't like that. "No."

"You just stood there and did _nothing_!" she shrieked.

She stood up and hammered her fists against his chest, shouting obscenities at him until her words ran into one another and became one long howl of grief.

Dean just stood there and quietly accepted every blow. Everyone he loved was taken from him because he wasn't quick enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't clever enough. It was his fault. He'd seen Lisa and for a moment, just for a moment, he saw everything his life could have been if Sam had never been freed from the cage. But he couldn't have that. He was one of the few who were born to shoulder the weight of the supernatural.

Eventually her blows became weaker and slower until she collapsed against him, so Dean moved to wrap his arms around her.

But she wriggled out of his grasp, shaking her head at him before looking down at Ben's lifeless body and sobbing all over again.

Dean couldn't take any more. He collected his things and walked away, barely keeping it together long enough to reach the Impala, and only once he was inside did he scream and let himself take his frustration and grief out on the steering wheel.

*** * ***

When Dean got back to his motel room he tossed his gear on the spare empty bed – he'd ordered a twin room out of habit – and sat down on the one he'd been sleeping in. All the pillows from Sam's bed had found their way across to his, and he lay back in them as he tried to ignore the tremor in his hands.

He stripped down and took a cold shower, rubbing at his skin until it was red and the bar of soap was worn down to almost nothing, as if hoping to erase the memory of tonight. Every time he closed his eyes the memory became sharper.

_He'd tracked the werewolf to a small park and walked forwards, gun at the ready, when _she_ had stepped out of the shadows. He'd been struck by her similarity to Lisa at first, until she'd spoken._

_"Do I know you?" she'd asked, a faint look of recognition in her confused expression._

_He'd frozen, then, surprised at seeing her for the first time in years. When Castiel had wiped all traces of him from her memory, he never thought he'd see her again. He hadn't registered the rustling in the bushes, nor the low growl travelling on the wind, until it was too late. The werewolf leapt from the bushes, putting itself between Ben and Dean. catching him unaware. He'd been too damned slow to aim and pull the trigger, too afraid of hitting Ben despite Lisa's pleads for him to, "Pull the trigger! What are you waiting for? Shoot it, _please_!"_

He knew what would blur the lines, however, and he collapsed onto his bed with the bottle of whiskey he'd picked up on the way back.

An hour later Dean's hands were still trembling as he raised the nearly empty bottle of whiskey to his lips – though that might now be more from the alcohol than what he'd just been through – when a car backfiring outside made him jump the bottle fell to the floor, the last of the amber liquid pouring out.

"Shit!"

Dean would worry about getting charged for cleaning costs, except for the fact he could already count at least ten different stains in the room and he was more concerned about losing the contents of the bottle. He fell to his knees as he leaned over to pick it up, dropping the sweets that he'd forgotten were in his other hand, and drank the last of it. The room was spinning around him, so he thought he's just stay down on the floor until the furniture stayed in one place long enough for him to stand up again.

Clumsily he began to pick up the scattered sweets - a job made more difficult by the fact that his fingers felt twice as big as usual and rather numb. He felt like shit, and a part of him wished that Sam had been there. If he had, Ben might still be alive. He thought briefly considered calling him, but quickly dismissed the notion. Sam had his own shit to be dealing with, without having to deal with Dean's as well. He'd just have to deal with it alone, then. Then the message on one sweet caught his eye just as a cop car pulled up outside, blue lights flashing, and he was reminded of a pair of blue eyes. Blue eyes that had seen him at his worst, but still managed to see the best in him. It was a good thing he was drunk, because then in the morning he could blame what he was about to do on the booze.

"Cas?" he croaked, figuring that he had nothing to lose except his dignity. "I hope you can hear me, man, 'cause I really need you right now. Hell was easier than the day I've just had, and—"

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas!" Dean tried to say more, but he couldn't get the words out so he just tossed the sweet across to him, hoping it was the right one.

Castiel caught it deftly, and read the message.

_Hold me._

Castiel frowned, his head tipped to the side the way it did whenever Dean did or asked for something that Castiel didn't understand.

"Please," he whispered, so quiet he couldn't even hear himself beg.

Immediately Castiel was by his side, but before he could take the hunter in his arms Dean had gripped the lapels of his trench coat and pulled him close. Castiel awkwardly wrapped his arms around him and Dean sank into his embrace and sobbed.

"Ben's dead. He's dead, Cas," he babbled into the angel's shoulder.

Castiel sat there for an hour, in a cramped position that would have had any human fidgeting after five minutes, whispering reassurances into the ear of a drunken, sobbing Dean as he cradled him in his arms, letting the tendrils of his grace weave their way into his mind and ease him into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam was worried about Dean. He'd been drinking coffee instead of alcohol for quite a while, now, but lately he'd been back on the strong stuff and he wouldn't talk about it. It didn't mean that Sam didn't keep asking him about it, though.

"I keep telling you there's nothing to talk about, so just leave it, Sam!"

Dean's outburst was quickly followed by the door of his room slamming behind him, and Sam sighed. He probably could have timed that better. His brother had been moody and withdrawn, and Sam had tried to ignore the fact that he seemed to take greater pleasure in killing whatever they were hunting. Quick kills had slowly become painful and more drawn out. He was worried. More than that, he was scared.

He closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer to Castiel, asking him to drop by and check on Dean soon. "I'm worried about him," he finished quietly.

*** * ***

Dean lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he tried to forget the look on Lisa's face when Ben had died. He'd never even seen so much pain in his dad's eyes. He wanted to talk to someone – wanted someone to tell him that it wasn't his fault – but he'd been the only one there, and he refused to burden Sam with his guilt on top of the trials. Cas had offered to stay with him, but Dean had told him to go – told him that he was fine. He wasn't fine, but the truth was if Cas started hanging around more often than usual Sam would start to ask questions that Dean didn't want to answer. He hadn't seen him in weeks, and he wanted to call him but didn't know what he'd say when Cas answered. He was embarrassed that he'd been so weak that he'd needed to call a freaking Angel of the Lord down from Heaven to hold him until he fell asleep.

A short while later he heard Sam shout that he was going out to grab some supplies, and he immediately felt guilty. He'd said he'd go out and get them earlier, but hadn't. Sam had his own shit to deal with, and shouldn't have to deal with Dean's as well. That's why he hadn't told him about Ben, he reminded himself. If Bobby was still alive he would call him out on his bullshit; wouldn't accept his pleas of _I'm fine_. He rolled over with a sigh and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Castiel watching him.

"Jesus!" Dean shouted as he leapt up into a sitting position. "How many times, Cas?"

The both looked at each other in an uncomfortable silence, neither quite sure what to say.

Eventually Cas spoke. "Dean, I—"

"Don't," Dean cut him off.

"But—"

"I said _don't_ , Cas."

Cas shuffled awkwardly, casting a glance around the room.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

Castiel cocked his head. "Why?"

"Why?" Dean echoed. "Cas, I shouldn't have called you when... Well. It won't happen again."

"You needed me," Castiel stated.

Dean rubbed his hand over the covers, smoothing them out so that he didn't have to look at Cas.

"I was glad that I could be there for you. You shouldn't have been alone."

"Stop it, Cas."

"It wasn't your fault," Castiel insisted.

"But I—"

"No!" Castiel said sharply, and Dean started. Castiel placed a reassuring hand on Dean's arm, where his handprint had once marked him, and stared into his eyes. He did what he had promised not to do, and looked into Dean's mind, bringing his memories of that night to the surface.

Dean gasped. He wanted to tell Cas to stop it, to get out of his head and leave, but at the same time he wanted Cas to stay; however he couldn't say anything, couldn't find the words, because at that moment everything was that night.

Castiel saw the night as Dean had seen it, though the memories were now misted in guilt and grief and the edge of drink.

A tear fell down Dean's cheek as he replayed the events of that night, but now it was like the fog had cleared.

"It was _not_ your fault," Castiel told him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Dean felt very naked under Castiel's glare. "Did you..." He trailed off hoarsely and coughed. "Did you mojo me?" he asked roughly.

Castiel straightened up. "I just wanted you to see the truth. Like Purgatory. You take on too much responsibility and then berate yourself when you can't live up to it all. Even you have a limit."

Dean knew he should be mad with him, but he just couldn't be. "Thanks," he said, and damn it he wasn't blushing. "Now sit down, or something, man."

Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed, and Dean moved so they were side by side. He laughed when the angel reached into his pocket for a packet of sweets, and raised one to his mouth. "Are you still eating those?"

"They are pleasant," Cas commented.

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head when he offered him one, and they sat there in silence while Castiel munching his way through the packet.

"Dean," Castiel said after a moment.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"You like pie." He held a sweet out to Dean.

"Yeah." He looked at the message and nearly choked. _Cutie pie._ "Uh, thanks," he chuckled nervously and popped it in his mouth, aware of the warmth spreading across his cheeks and thinking that Sam would piss himself if he was here.

He yawned, then. He hadn't been sleeping well. Had barely been sleeping at all, actually – he'd just been drinking until he passed out. But he had a feeling the nightmares wouldn't be there now that Cas had done his thing, so he let himself lean back against the pillows and close his eyes.

"I think I'm going to fall asleep," he told Cas. "You don't need to stay if you don't want to."

"No. I'll stay and I'll watch over you."

Castiel moved up the bed to sit beside Dean, and Dean smiled. It was reassuring knowing that Cas wasn't going anywhere, at least not just now. They chatted quietly about silly, pointless things until sleep took him. His last conscious thought was that Cas would keep the nightmares away.

When Dean's head dropped onto his shoulder Cas started, but made no move for fear of waking him. He intended to make sure that Dean got all the rest he needed. He was far too hard on himself, but for all that Castiel wished Dean could just let it go, he knew that it was that drive to succeed, and that inability to settle for anything other than perfection which John had drilled into him, that made him Dean.

Sam came back after a while and knocked quietly on the door. Cas said nothing, and Sam trudged back down the corridor. He felt bad, for he could tell that Sam was wondering whether Dean was sleeping or if he was still pissed off, and if he was still pissed was it because of something he'd done? But when Dean mumbled "Cas" softly in his sleep, Castiel smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was a cuddler, though he'd never admit it (at least when he was sober), and when it was just him and Sam he just had to bury all the shit deep inside of him and keep going, because John Winchester had drilled it into him that men were tough, men didn't let their emotions get in the way.

With Cas, though, it was different.

Cas had seen Dean at his very worst – a place Sam could never even dream of imagining. With Cas, Dean could be a little more himself, because Cas didn't judge him as his father had done. Cas just accepted him as he was, fucked up and broken. But even then he didn't know how to ask for what he needed sometimes. The sweets made it easier, because he didn't need to _say_ anything.

After a hard fight and Sam had gone to bed, he'd quietly pass a sweet to Cas without a word – _Hug me_ – while he continued doing whatever he was doing, and the angel would wrap his arms around him. For a moment Dean would let himself sink into the gentleness of Cas's embrace before he quickly pulled away, because after Hell and Purgatory – and fuck it, even his _life_ – he still craved those little moments of feelings loved, but he was too afraid of getting used to them to enjoy them, because Cas always left. And thankfully Cas seemed to understand that, because he never said anything.

And after yet another argument with Sam over the trials, during which Dean had shouted at Sam that it shouldn't be him doing them because it's always been Dean's job to look out for him and Sam had screamed back that he could _do_ it if Dean would just let him, Dean would pull Cas into a hug before he zapped off to do whatever he needed to do. Only he and Cas would know that he's used that hug to drop a sweet into Cas's pocket – _Text me_ – and the angel would make an extra effort to remain in contact with him, even if he couldn't drop by. And if Sam made stupid comments about how it sounded like he'd gotten himself a needy girlfriend if the amount of times his phone rang was anything to go by, well, he could let it go because he needed Cas.

And if one night he wanted someone to take his mind off everything, just for a couple of hours, but couldn't get it up for the girl he picked up and instead bought himself a bottle, shut himself in his room, and drank to the point that he allowed himself to entertain thoughts he would usually bury, and passed a sweet to Cas – _Kiss me_ – he could just put it down to his good friend Jack. Or at least, he could have done had the angel not padded silently over to him and softly pressed his lips against the corner of Dean's mouth; had Dean not moved his head ever so slightly to swipe his tongue across Cas's lower lip; had Cas not shoved him against the wall and full on _kissed_ him, tongue and all; had he not kissed him back until his pants got a little too tight.

Cas disappeared on him then, leaving him flushed and embarrassed with a hard on that was begging to be touched. So he jerked off to the memory of Cas; of his smell and his taste and the touch of his burning hot fingers digging into his hips. He came harder than he could ever remember, and the next morning when he showered he discovered the bruises that Cas had left. Bruises that took two weeks to disappear, and that got him hard just by looking at them and thinking about Cas's hands on him.

He tried it again a few weeks later, when he'd had a little less to drink and had a little more control over his body – just to see what Cas would do, he told himself – and his hands had barely ghosted over the curve of Cas's ass when the angel disappeared on him.

Dean used the sweets to ask Cas for the things he was too afraid to ask out loud for – comforting gestures that John would have told him made him weak – but somewhere along the line Dean stopped asking only when he _needed_ , and started asking when he _wanted_.


	8. Chapter 8

Cats.

Dean _hated_ cats.

"Achoo!"

"Bless you," Sam said, sounding bored.

"Achoo!"

"Bless you." This was the umpteenth time, so Sam didn't even bother looking up from his book.

"Achoo!"

"Bless you," Sam said again, rereading the same line he'd been trying to read for the past few minutes.

"ACHOO!"

Sam slammed his book shut. "Damn it, Dean, just take some allergy tablets and go to bed."

"We don't have any allergy t— _achoo_!"

"Then just go to bed."

"But I'm not tired," Dean said, sniffing.

Sam sighed in exasperation. People always said that doctors made the worst patients, but then none of them had ever met Dean. "I can't concentrate with you sneezing every five seconds!"

Dean stared at Sam. "Fine," he said eventually. "Fine."

He sneezed three times in quick succession before he got to his feet, and Sam listened to his sneezes getting fainter as he made his way to his bedroom. Once Dean was out of sight Sam finally allowed himself to sink down into his chair. He felt awful, but he wasn't going to let Dean see that. Not when Dean seemed to be so much happier for the moment. Dean deserved a little happiness, he thought to himself as he coughed into a handkerchief. Fresh splatters of red dotted the white material, and Sam groaned.

*** * ***

Dean would have been able to hear Sam coughing from his room had he not been sneezing. He'd also have been able to hear Cas arrive several minutes later.

"Achoo!"

"Hello, Dean."

Dean's sneeze turned into a hacking cough when Cas's greeting startled him. "Damn it, Cas!" Dean shouted, once he could speak. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"My apologies." Cas held out a brown paper bag.

"What's that?" Dean asked, taking it from him and opening it. "Allergy tablets?" he said, taking the small packet out of the bag.

Castiel shrugged. "Sam suggested it would be beneficial to you if I brought you some."

Dean didn't argue, but took two with the cold coffee he'd stubbornly carried through with him and grimaced. "Yuck."

"How are you?"

"Allergic."

"Other than that?"

Dean paused before speaking, knowing that Cas was referring to how he'd coped with Ben's death. "Better," he said, not adding that he'd been distracted by Sam's ill health lately.

"Sam will be fine," Cas assured him.

"Are you reading my mind again?"

"I don't need to," Cas stated. "I know you."

Dean couldn't explain why that comment made him feel oddly naked, but before he could dwell on it too much he started sneezing again. When he stopped and turned back to Cas, a sweet was being held out to him.

_Bless you._

Dean chuckled. "Thanks, Cas."

*** * ***

Cas has still been there when he fell asleep - or at least, he assumed he was because Dean didn't remember him leaving – but he wasn't there when Dean woke up. He wasn't anywhere in the bunker, and Dean couldn't help the familiar feeling of abandonment wash over him.

*** * ***

Two weeks took them across five states – a werewolf in Missouri, a vampire nest in Illinois, a haunted ghost train in a theme park in Iowa, another vampire nest in South Dakota, and a shapeshifter in Wyoming.

"Why can't we ever go to the likes of Florida?" Dean complained one day.

"Or Hawaii?" Sam teased, for they wouldn't be able to drive there.

"Shut up bitch."

"Jerk," Sam shot back, grinning until his laughter turned into a coughing fit.

He dropped the handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket, and Dean leaned down to get it and pass it to him.

"One of these days you're going to drive off the road or into an oncoming vehicle," Castiel noted.

"Damn it, Cas!"

"Hey, Cas," Sam said, sounding slightly wheezy.

Castiel stared at him, as if analysing him. "You are beyond my power to help," he declared.

"Oh, well, that's great Cas. Yeah. Thanks," Dean snapped.

Castiel turned to Dean. "If there was something I could do, I would do it."

"But would you?"

Castiel went even stiller than usual. "You know that I would," he said coldly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Sorry, Cas."

The rest of the drive to the nearest motel passed in an uncomfortable silence. They checked in to a twin room, and then Sam went out for a drink and to see if he could locate the witch they were here for.

*** * ***

Dean had stayed at the motel, hoping to take the chance to talk to Cas, but Cas had left just after Sam – though he promised he'd return. Dean very definitely wasn't waiting on him coming back, though. And if he kept glancing at his watch, well... Sam had been out for a while and there was nothing interesting on the TV.

Though if Sasquatch was out getting himself laid while Dean was stuck in a cheap, filthy motel room with a mattress thinner than a welcome mat – he _really_ missed his bed – and he did _not_ want to know what the stain was on the chair; he only cared that he would not be sitting on it—

"Hello, Dean."

Dean licked his lips nervously. "Hey."

The both looked at each other, each aware that at some point during the last few weeks or months they'd crossed the line between friendship into a greyer area, and Dean wasn't quite sure what it was. Hell, he wasn't even quite sure what he wanted it to be.

"Look, uh," he started, but fell silent when he realised that he didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry for what I said," was what he settled for.

"Dean," Cas said, with an urgency that Dean couldn't remember him having since the Apocalypse.

Castiel took the wrapper of a packet of sweets out of his pocket and Dean was about to point him to the trashcan when he realised that Cas was unwrapping the crumpled paper. He rolled it across the table top and it rolled to a stop in front of Dean. It had landed face down, and Dean felt an irrational sense of panic as he paused before turning the sweet over.

_I love you._

Dean swallowed, turning the sweet over and over in his hand as if the message would change to something less intimidating. Cas loved him. Did Cas even know what love was? Of course he knew what love was, but was what he was feeling really love? Dean could certainly accept platonic love, even familial love, but romantic love? His breath caught in his throat at that, because that was _terrifying_.

"Cas," he said, stumbling over the angel's name despite the hundreds of times he'd screamed it like a curse and whispered it like a prayer.

The corners of Castiel's mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed the longer Dean just stared at him. Dean shook his head. How did he even begin to acknowledge that?

But he blinked, and the angel was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean kept the incriminating sweet in his pocket for a week, as if burying its message would also bury the feelings the angel had developed for him. And also, if he was being honest, the feelings he was starting to develop for the angel. But he was not being honest, so instead he was denying Cas was anything other than 'just a friend' and blaming himself for corrupting an angel of the Lord.

He was going to Hell.

Again.

Sam looked up from the book he was reading. "Dean, why don't we see if Cas can help?"

"The dude's busy!" Dean snapped back, hating the fact that he was taking out his frustrations on the only person he could, if he was the talking type, talk to about how he was feeling. But he wasn't, so instead he bottled everything up in the hope that if he ignored it long enough it would all go away, and then took it all out on Sam.

"Dean, he hasn't dropped by in a week. Maybe he—"

"He's _fine_ , Sam. Just drop it. If he didn't have angel stuff to do he'd be here. We've been doing this on our own for years – we just need to keep looking."

"'We?'" Sam echoed. " _I'm_ looking; you've been staring at the same page for the past half hour. Really, Dean – what's gotten into you?"

 _Not Cas_ , a small part of his mind pointed out, and Dean flushed. "Nothing, I just... I can't remember the last time we spent so long on a hunt."

"Well maybe if we at least _asked_ —"

"I said _no_ , damn it!"

Sam started gathering a pile of books together. "I'm not going to sit here and put up with your moping. I'm going to the library to read these. You can do whatever the hell you want. But talk to Cas!"

"I... What?"

"It's obvious you're avoiding him, Dean – and it seems like he's avoiding you, too. He's picked up too many bad habits from you. I really don't know what he sees in you."

"I know – I'm a shit excuse of a friend."

"I didn't say that, Dean."

"It's still true."

Sam shook his head and walked out. There was nothing he could say to Dean when he was in one of these moods - at least nothing that he'd listen to. "I'm taking the Impala!" he shouted as the door slammed shut behind him.

Dean sat there, the small round sweet feeling heavy in his pocket. He took it out and looked at it, but he'd been fingering so often this past week that the message had long since worn away.

He cleared the table of books and emptied out all the packets of sweets he had, turning them all the right way around so he could read the messages. Each one that said _I love you_ was immediately turned face down again. He didn't know what he was looking for. Answers, maybe? But he stared at them so long that he saw circles when he blinked.

A soft flutter revealed Castiel's presence, but neither said a word. Eventually, Dean straightened in his seat.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel from behind him, breaking the silence.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied without turning around.

Silence hung between them, and usually it was comfortable but today it's anything but.

"I believe this is what you would call an 'awkward moment'," Castiel offered eventually.

Dean opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say to make it any less awkward.

"I do, however, wish for us to remain friends," Castiel continued, "so will do whatever you think it will take for us to get back to where we were. I'm sorry," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Cas was apologising for loving him, when it should be _Dean_ apologising for not being good enough for him. For not saying _I love you, too_ when he had the chance.

"Okay, one," Dean said, turning to face him, "I don't think we can get back to where were before, and two – you've got nothing to be sorry about, Cas. I'm the one who should be apologizing for just leaving you hanging like that."

"Nevertheless, it is clear to me that my feelings towards you are unreturned—"

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Shut up."

Castiel immediately fell silent, and Dean flicked a sweet over to him.

_You're mine._

Castiel looked up at him, and Dean could feel the flush in his cheeks. Castiel slowly stepped closer to him, and Dean swallowed nervously, but Castiel leaned past him to look at the sweets strewn across the table top. He studied them carefully, before sliding one towards Dean with the tip of a finger.

_Will you._

Would he what?

Another was moved beside it; Castiel's finger covering its surface, and it took the angel a moment to reveal the message.

_Kiss me._

Dean grabbed the lapels of Castiel's trench coat and did exactly as he was asked.


End file.
